


and in my honest observation

by manhattanvalleys



Category: One Piece
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, Fingerfucking, First Time, Future Fic, Oral Sex, Other, Threesome, Trans Character, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manhattanvalleys/pseuds/manhattanvalleys
Summary: “Imagine,” Monet says, still looking at Luffy alone, “the things we could do to him together.”She hears Law’s sharp intake of breath.
Relationships: Monet/Monkey D. Luffy, Monet/Monkey D. Luffy/Trafalgar Law, Monet/Trafalgar Law, Monkey D. Luffy/Trafalgar Law
Comments: 11
Kudos: 101





	and in my honest observation

The festival is still going strong when Monet leaves, weary of drifting aimlessly through the party, alone and unmoored. She’s tired—drained in the way of the soul, not the body—and even watching the dancers fails to lift her spirits, bitterness seeping in as they switch to dancing in pairs.

She doesn’t see Law, on her way out. Doesn’t see the pirate king, either, and she forces herself not to look for the tell-tale flash of red among the mingling crews as she dives into the night, turning her back on the fire and lights. Walks back to the docks with the white sand shifting under her theropod feet, and thinks of nothing at all—certainly not of Strawhat, and not of Law’s hand grasped in his, the two of them vanishing together into the crowd.

After the raucous noise of the party the little half-moon harbor is quiet, blanketed by an undisturbed calm. Not a soul remains out on the quay, and even the man on watch has gone from the dock; only a lone lantern marks the berth occupied by the _Tang,_ tied to a rope between posts. Monet keeps her eyes on it as she crosses the rickety pier to the ship, which looms dark amid the slim local catamarans.

On reaching the lantern she locates the side ladder by touch, and starts deftly up the side, her wings melding easily into hands. The alcohol from the party is warm in her belly, and as she pulls herself up she wonders whether there might still be whiskey left in Law’s personal stash, the better to forget herself for the night.

She doesn’t hear the voices until she’s climbed fully onto the deck, their sound carrying from somewhere up towards the bow.

For a moment she thinks she’s caught a pair of thieves, pilfering the ship while the crew’s gone ashore. She hurries forward, meaning to scare them away: curses whoever it was that abandoned the watch, and promises herself she’ll be having words, after.

Then one of them laughs—a high, carrying sound that could belong to only one man—and Monet comes to an abrupt stop near the corner of the aft superstructure, kicking herself for retreating without thinking back to the ship.

Law’s answering murmur reaches her next, too far away to make out the words. She hesitates, unable to decide whether to go forward or back, caught between two dismally unpleasant options. Certainly she doesn’t want to go back to the party; wants to intrude even less, not knowing whether Law and the pirate king are merely lingering out on the deck.

But this is her home as much as it is Law’s, and she’s struck by a flash of irritation with with herself for even considering scurrying back ashore. Better to just make herself known; hunt down the booze and then hide out below, or perhaps on some secluded beach. She shakes her head, and steps around the corner, heading for the hatch.

She’s half-way across the deck when she catches sight of them leaning together against the railing, side by side, indistinct in the dark. She thinks they’re both looking out, Law leaning close, Strawhat’s shoulder pressed to his own—

And realizes, too late, that she’s intruded on something more, coming up short a few feet away. Sees the tail end of Law’s sharp backward motion, the straightening of his spine—“Monet,” he says, almost a gasp—and takes in their positions, Strawhat leaned back on his elbows against the railing, Law half turned towards him, and.

She bites her tongue, and wishes that she’d gone back ashore.

It’s the little things, she thinks, that give them away so soundly. The odd crease in Law’s collar where a hand has rested, the tassels at Luffy’s shoulder hanging askew; the look she’d caught in Law’s eyes, more than all the rest put together, impossible to mistake.

Law stares at her, ruffled. Strawhat looks curiously on, apparently unperturbed.

Weakly, feeling herself a terrible fool, Monet says: “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“No,” Law says, too quickly, “you aren’t interrupting anything.” And, like a man catching his breath, “Stay here, both of you. I’ll—get those drinks.” He doesn’t meet her eyes as he steps past her, too hurried to mimic nonchalance.

Monet watches him disappear through the hatch leading to the interior of the submarine, and finds herself left abruptly alone with the pirate king, still leaning beside her.

His coat stirs gently in the breeze. The night is calm and quiet around them, undisturbed but for the sound of the waves against the side of the _Tang,_ and Monet wraps her arms around herself, still humanoid, still fragile.

Says, into that imperfect silence: “He was going to kiss you, wasn’t he.”

“Yes,” Luffy says.

Just like that.

A sigh breaks free from her chest, and she goes to lean next to him on the railing, looking out. The water of the harbor is black, cleaved open here and there by the light of the early moons, and above the sky is dense with stars, spiderwebs hung silver from the heavens. It's only by their disappearance that she's able to trace the line of the horizon, wrapping around towards the island behind.

“Damn,” she says.

“It’s all right,” Strawhat tells her. His tone is light, and the smile he gives her not unlike the moonbeam reflections out past the railing, a slash of bright in the dark. “There’s time. Torao’s just—” He shrugs, a vague toss of his shoulders that unsettles the golden tassels there.

Monet understands, anyway. _The things he does with you, they aren’t meant for anyone else._

Her next words fall out of her mouth before she can stop them. “It’s strange—for almost as long as I’ve known him, he’s loved you. And yet I hardly know you at all.” Not bitter, merely true, drawn from her by the tenuous late-night moment, by the faint alcohol fuzz in her head.

By the oddity of finding herself alone with someone she knows almost solely through the shape of him perceptible in Law’s life, even—or maybe that ought to be, _especially_ —when he isn’t there.

Luffy asks, “Do you want to know me?”

So straight-forward is the question that for a moment Monet can’t make sense of it, has to rearrange her universe into one where it might be asked. Of all the things she might have expected for him to say, none are so unadorned, so practical, so— _easy._

But then: of course Law would fall for someone who makes everything simple.

When she’s found her tongue again she says, “Yes,” turning towards him, “yes, of course. You . . .” She pauses, searching for the right words. “He is like a man becalmed in the doldrums, without you. Adrift, staring at the sun and waiting desperately for the wind.” She takes a breath. “I would know that wind.”

Luffy’s eyes, meeting hers, are like the cenote pools she has seen in the southern jungles, those endless limestone caves so deep that even diving one cannot see the bottom. She wonders if Law gets the same terrifying urge to dive in, seized by newfound sympathy; wonders too if she’s said too much, stepped too far, revealed too much of her bruised and lonely heart.

But Luffy laughs—chiming, charming benediction—and grins at her, utterly disarming. “You bet!”

Faced with that irresistible expression she can’t help but smile back, a strange humor unfolding in her chest. “So where,” she asks, falling in with his mood, “do you propose we start?”

“You could kiss me,” Luffy suggests. His audacity startles from her something between a gasp and a laugh, but he goes on, cheerfully shameless, “Torao said once that he found it en—enl—ahh, howzit go—”

“Enlightening?” she says, biting her lip to keep from laughing. She can only imagine how that conversation must have gone.

“That was it,” Luffy says, agreeably, and shifts so he’s facing her, left elbow hanging out over the water. “So, good place to start, right?”

“I suppose it is at that,” Monet breathes, and wonders at the fact that she’s really, in this moment, willing to consider it. Maybe there’s something in the air on this island, or maybe the islander alcohol has hit her harder than she thinks; or maybe it’s just that she’s tired of being lonely, of being cautious, of always treading too carefully to seize the things that she wants.

Why shouldn’t _it might be fun_ be enough for her, after all?

She doesn’t spend any more time arguing with herself, after that. Just leans in, her feathered human hands still on the railing, and does.

It’s a strange kiss, the angle odd between them, but—Luffy’s mouth is warm, and _new,_ and when he surges willingly up to meet her she finds it difficult to care. Feels Luffy’s left hand touch hers atop cold metal, his fingers coarse against her own, and thinks, _Oh._

She moves, on impulse, to press him back against the railing: brings her hands up to his face and kisses him deeper, following some perfect, thoughtless instinct, obsessed with the careless way he touches her in return. The kiss—the sudden, tense intimacy—is nothing at all like kisses she’s shared with Law, whose ironclad restraint has to be chipped away piece by piece, whose every soft escaped sound is a thing to be won by campaign. Luffy gives freely, and she can feel the smile curving his mouth before they break apart, her gasping, him—grinning.

She gets out, “That _was_ enlightening,” too stunned for anything more.

Behind her, Law says, “I found it to be so.”

Monet’s heart stops in her chest.

She whirls, her mouth open, to find Law standing a few feet away on the deck, a bottle in one hand and three shot glasses in the other. His expression is wholly unreadable—his eyes dark—and Monet gasps, “We weren’t—this isn’t—I—”

“I didn’t say,” Law interrupts her, “that you should _stop._ ”

Which halts her panic in its tracks, leaving her momentarily frozen.

Law’s gaze, her hindbrain notes then, is _interested;_ markedly so, his attention riveted to them both, like he’s seeing something impossible, something he doesn’t dare miss. Like he _likes this,_ likes them, likes them together, and isn’t at all eager to scare them apart.

Monet gets it. Turns to see a mischievous grin sneaking edgewise onto Luffy’s face, and knows that he gets it, too, excitement expanding like a balloon in her chest.

She steps back against the railing—turns, deliberate, to give Law a clear view of them both—and bends again to kiss Luffy, sinking into the motion. Luffy meets her halfway, pulling her closer: one arm snakes around her back, and the other comes up for a shameless squeeze of her breast, making her gasp against his mouth. She’s struck by his gall and delighted by his initiative, and not at all inclined to protest.

It’s a showy, sloppy kiss, only one aim in mind; still, when they part Monet’s heart beats at a pace that has nothing at all to do with her earlier alarm, her blood rushing.

Enlightenment, she is certain, has never felt so good.

Law swears under his breath.

Strawhat looks to to him, and slings out an arm, stretching inhumanly long to hook around Law’s lower back. “Come here, Torao.” Law stumbles against them, and Monet lifts the bottle and shot glasses out of his hands, goes to set them far enough away to not be kicked over.

Turns back just in time to see Luffy steer Law firmly back against the railing and hold him there, caught fast: Law motionless, Luffy’s grip tight on his arms, the two of them frozen some few fraught inches apart. Something unspoken passes between them, and it seems to Monet that time stops, her breath gone still in her lungs, her heart arrested in between beats.

Then Luffy moves, his coat swinging against his ankles, and:

And she watches, spellbound, as Law’s resolve shatters; as he tilts forward to kiss Luffy in a single, full-body motion, like a battlement collapsing under cannon fire. His right hand curls around the back of Luffy’s neck, and he turns their contact deeper, more ardent, Luffy’s arms wrapping around his waist in return.

It’s a stunningly intimate kiss, so much so that Monet almost looks away. Law’s want is painted so starkly across him that she can’t imagine his ever hiding its mark, and she’s suddenly overwhelmed by the sense that she’s seeing something that’s not meant for her eyes. Only—it _is,_ she reminds herself; knows that Luffy is doing this for _her_ , that Law would not have acquiesced if he hadn’t made that choice.

She doesn’t look away.

It’s Luffy that breaks away first, leaving Law to slump back against the railing alone. Law looks dazed at the abrupt loss of contact, but Luffy merely turns, offering her an overextended hand back to her feet. “C’mon,” he says, his eyes bright, and she thinks that in that moment he resembles nothing so much as a sea devil out of a sailor’s myth, deposited on their deck by some wayward storm.

Law, left thoroughly breathless behind him, certainly looks _bedeviled._

She takes Luffy’s hand, and allows herself to be pulled to her feet and reeled in _._ She’s insensibly pleased to find herself flush against him, all at once aware of everything she’s been missing in their few seconds apart; equally aware of Law only inches away, his gaze heavy on them both, hands gripping the railing behind him.

Luffy is half-hard against her thigh—no wonder, after that kiss—and she realizes that she can smell Law on his skin, dizzied. Lightly, she says, “Seeing a kiss like that, a girl might get ideas.”

“What kinda ideas,” Luffy says, grinning—rolls his hips forward when she nudges her knee between his, perfectly brazen.

“Well,” Monet says, still looking at Luffy alone, the moment’s tension tangible around them, “imagine the things we could do to him _together._ ”

She hears Law’s sharp intake of breath.

Luffy’s answering grin is _enormous_. “You’re smart, bird girl.” He tilts his head. “Here, or in bed?” Then, casual addendum, “I _was_ going to fuck him out here, but three doesn’t work so well against a wall.”

Law emits a choked sound of mortification. Monet—her head filled vividly by the image Luffy’s words imply—manages only, “The bed, I think.”

Luffy glances over towards Law. “Torao?”

Law’s hands, Monet sees, have gone white-knuckled on the railing behind him. Levelly, he says, “I think,” a measured breath, another, “that if you spend much longer standing around, Luffy, the location is no longer going to be _up for debate._ ”

Luffy’s smile is cheshire-wide, and delivered moving at speed towards the hatch.

*

Their three-person stumble to the captain’s cabin is clumsy, unpracticed, all the more perfect for that. They catch, together, on things unseen: first at the door—Law between them with his back pressed against it, Monet kissing his neck, Luffy’s hands sliding up under his shirt—then at the bed, Monet and Luffy caught up in a kiss of their own, walking Law back until his legs strike the edge and make him sit down.

There they sink for a while into more lingering kisses, hands straying to each other. To Monet each touch is warm and exciting and new, even her familiar intimacy with Law rendered electric by Luffy’s presence. She doesn’t notice when they start tilting, naturally, against the sheets; catches herself already on top of Law with her knee between his and Luffy stretched out alongside, him kissing Law while she tugs down Law’s collar, presses her lips to bared skin.

When Luffy releases him Law pulls her in, and kisses her unexpectedly deep. Luffy leans up to nose behind her ear in the same moment, startlingly sensual and intensely distracting, just like Luffy himself.

Monet wants both of them with an urgency that stuns her, even after everything on the deck. Wants to be taken apart, wants to see _Law_ taken apart, wants to drown wholly in the rising heat of the three of them together; wants to know what sounds Law makes when it’s Luffy, touching him, and win a few of her own. She elicits her first by biting down hard on Law’s lip—he hisses, and as she pulls away he grins, tongue darting out over the abused spot.

Clothes are shed in the same haphazard way, reaching thoughtlessly for each other. Still—by unspoken, wicked consensus—Law is undressed first: Luffy pulls his shirt up over his arms, making him arch against the bed to get free, and Monet slides her palms over his stomach, down to the waist of his jeans, leaning in to press a kiss under his navel. Law shudders, and as Luffy takes to kissing him senseless she tugs open his zipper, works off his jeans and his underwear to toss to the floor.

For a moment he’s fully nude underneath them, both of them still dressed in entirely too many clothes; and then—as Monet reaches across him to push Luffy’s shirt off his shoulders—Law shoves himself up on his elbows, and undoes the buttons of her blouse with his teeth.

It’s crude, and shockingly sexy, and Monet gasps as he falls back against the bed and tugs the shirt down her arms. Kisses him again while Luffy pulls her pants uncarefully off, lifting her knees when she’s prompted, and doesn’t break away even as she aids Luffy in divesting himself of his, reaching behind herself to to hook her fingers into his belt.

In the end they’re all naked together, and Monet is so caught up in the moment—in the casual press of bodies against intimate places—that she doesn’t even think to ask how they’re going to do this, or plan anything in advance. Allows herself to be wholly inside herself, instead, luxuriating in each passing sensation: Luffy’s hand cupped against her ass, Law’s mouth closing on her right nipple, Luffy’s muscles hard under her touch. Law’s palms slide roughly down over her hips, tracing the curve of her body, and she lets herself feel that, too, intensely aware of his attention for a moment only on her.

It’s Luffy, of course, who eventually takes the lead. Tells her, “Go sit back against the pillows, bird girl,” and she does, parting from Law’s mouth on her breast with a regret she sees mirrored in Law’s own expression. Still, she relishes his abrupt inhalation as she climbs lewdly over him, thighs spread for a moment over his face; turns to sit back against the pillows with her legs kicked apart, talons flexing against the sheets, and watches as Luffy coaxes him to turn over so that he winds up between her legs on his belly, his gaze on her hot.

Her breath catches at that look, and Luffy—the soft line of his cock hardened now into a gentle interested curve, himself watching avidly as Law pushes up to his elbows and pulls himself nearer, nearer, until his every exhale blows warm across Monet’s spread-open cunt—looks massively pleased, like a master engineer beholding his latest creation. Law holds there, looking up at her, his pupils blown wide—

—and her attention is _riveted_ between her own legs, to his breath rolling over her pussy, to the proximate warmth of him on her clit—

—and still she can’t look away, her gaze locked on his. She works her hand carefully into his hair, fingers tangling in his dark locks until his eyelashes flutter, and prevails upon herself to look up, catching Luffy’s eyes instead.

Holds them, as she pushes Law’s head firmly _down_.

Law’s nose presses into her curls—his mouth opens, _wet_ —and as she thrusts him down he moans, right there between her legs, the vibration sending a shiver up her spine. Her own eyes slide closed, and she gasps, “Do it,” and, “do it, damn you—”

And doesn’t get any further than that, because that’s when he starts to lick slowly up the length of her pussy, tongue flattened against her clit. Monet’s back arches with the motion, chest thrusting forward, the hand that’s not in his hair closing against the sheets; and just as she runs out of breath the tip of his tongue reaches the tip of her clit, and she gets out, “ _Oh my god,_ ” finally managing to exhale.

He takes at once to eating her out, and she has to withdraw her hand from his hair because the urge to grab him by it and yank is like an itch in her palms. Reaches up behind herself to grasp the headboard, instead, and spreads her legs wider—throws her head back, and forgets everything but the marvelous filthy slide of his tongue, tracing intricately around her clit.

She’s wet—has been wet since back on the deck—and as his lips close around her she can feel it smearing copiously over his face, slicking his nose and his cheeks and his chin. Finds herself wetter still as he alternates between sucking her clit and tickling her with the tip of his firmed tongue, and loves the lurid sound of him licking it eagerly up, his low moan sinking deep into her cunt.

It’s not until they’ve settled into a rhythm—Law thoroughly engaged, her rolling her hips forward every once in a while to meet him—that she regains enough presence of mind to remember _Luffy,_ still there at the end of the bed.

Her eyes fly open at the thought, and what she sees is this: Law’s ass thrust into the air, Luffy bent over him from behind, his right hand buried between Law’s legs. Luffy’s eyes are closed—his lip bitten, all of him focused on what he’s doing—and as she watches the crease between his brows grows momentarily deeper, like he’s working out something complex, or reaching for something that he can’t see.

Then Law jolts, full-body, stuttering against her cunt—and the line between Luffy’s brows disappears, his eyes coming open. He flashes her a grin, and starts to move his arm.

The realization that he’s been opening Law on his fingers as Law eats her out makes Monet flush with arousal, heat rushing to her head and her cunt and culminating in a shocking wet pulse between her legs. Law startles against her, and she lets go of the headboard and bends forward, both hands coming down to push him closer. Holds him there while he swallows, and then—following through—straightens her back and thrusts her hips up, shoving harshly into his mouth.

He makes a sound, and her eyes nearly roll back—but he breaks away, panting, and turns to press his forehead against her sticky-slick inner thigh, like he’s struggling not to go under. She runs a hand worriedly through his hair, suddenly afraid she’s gone too far, and is already opening her mouth to ask when she sees: it’s not _her_ that has him so affected.

Behind him Luffy is bent nearly double, one hand braced on the bed, the other moving powerfully between Law’s legs. His expression is one of fierce concentration, and Law’s hands fist into the sheets as he starts to push involuntarily back, sweat slicking the pretty curve of his back.

“Fuck,” Law says, face still pressed half into her thigh, his eyes closed, “oh, fuck, I can’t—”

The sight of him so blatantly overwhelmed makes fondness unfurl in her chest, and a cheerful wickedness spark underneath. Soothingly, she runs her hand through his hair, brushes the damp strands from his forehead; tucks them behind his ear, and bends forward until her lips nearly touch the top of his head, making a tiny, intimate space.

Tells him, in their little shared darkness: “Don’t come.”

He jolts, and as she unbends she sees that his expression is starkly alarmed, his mouth opening to protest. She knows instantly that he’s even closer than she’d suspected; so close that if she doesn’t intervene he’ll fail her, after all, and fail himself by disobeying her word.

So Monet takes mercy, and lifts her head to say, “Luffy, wait,” and, “Luffy, come _here_.”

Luffy looks up at her—and _gets it,_ she knows he does, because he pulls suddenly back, and slithers up beside Law, pushing to hands and knees to give her a kiss. Law slumps heavily against the bed, and while she rediscovers how very much she enjoys kissing Luffy Law rolls aside and lies back, breathing hard. Presses both hands to his face, and stays apart from them both, his thighs squeezed tightly together.

She leaves him, for now, to stew torturously in his own unsated arousal. He can cool his head, and find a way to step back from the edge; she can make out with Luffy, and do it knowing that meanwhile Law is losing his mind from sexual tension, no relief forthcoming from either of them.

Then Luffy climbs up to press up against her—he’s fully erect, now, cock bobbing between his legs—and her attention is wholly diverted, their tangled embrace blending seamlessly into sex. His thumbs rub rough circles into her tits, just the right side of painful, flipping her switches like he’s been doing this to her for _years;_ she fingers herself, and then wraps her slick right hand around his cock, her left pressing over her pussy. _His_ right hand is still slick from Law, and the shameless way he rubs that wetness over her breast drives her crazy, makes her gasp into his mouth. She’s sweating, riding high, Luffy’s cock already making a mess in her hand, and she thinks she really could spend the whole night _just like this_ —

—and then she glances over towards Law, and sees that he’s watching them, his eyes wide, his lips parted, one hand fisted in the sheets over his head as he fucks himself openly on the other: and realizes that there’s _no way_ she’s lasting that long, because she’s suddenly terribly _close._

Luffy must sense the difference in her, because his right hand leaves her slick tender nipple, and slides instead down between her legs. Monet brings her left hand up at once, thumbing her breast to match the stimulation he still applies to the other, and struggles to steady herself as she feels his rough fingers open in a calloused V against her pussy. When he doesn't touch her clit she nearly screams in frustration, not wanting to wait.

In vengeful reminder she digs her thumb against the head of his cock—“Mm!” says Luffy—and slips her hand down to give his balls an unsparing squeeze, making him jolt minutely _up._ Precome dribbles over her hand as her palm slides firmly back up his shaft, and he takes the hint: spreads her wide open, and presses two fingers inside.

Monet gasps, and rolls her hips forward. Both of them are too breathless, now, to keep kissing; pant together as she angles herself against his hand, positioning herself to grind down on his fingers, desperate for steady pressure. “ _Harder,”_ she growls, and he gives it to her, making her buck against that immobile point; rubs her firm as she puts both hands on his cock, squeezing at the head with her left while her right keeps stroking his shaft, twisting occasionally down to his balls.

Down the bed from them Law moans, low and _needy,_ squeezed like it’s leaving him without without his permission. She can tell by the soft sounds coming from his direction that he’s masturbating furiously as he watches them fuck, captivated from afar by their moment.

She tries to draw it out for as long as she can, the intensity of her pleasure building to steady crescendo. Feels her oncoming orgasm wash dangerously against her, like a memory of dipping her once-human feet into the ocean, and tries to keep it from splashing over the edge—breaks up the rhythm, slows her movement against Luffy's hand, grasps furiously for self-discipline. Luffy’s talking, dirty and stupid, because _of course_ he’d talk as he fucks—“Fuck, bird girl, it’s getting all over, that’s so hot, you’re so _wet”—_ and she _is,_ slippery all over his hand, dripping onto the sheets, her own voice starting to escape her in little high sounds.

The ocean roars from beyond that final line, rising towards her, and she struggles to keep her eyes open, to cast a look over Luffy’s shoulder. Catches Law’s eyes—

—which are open desperate-wide, staring, and Law’s watching them like he needs to witness every detail, every instant, like he’d die before looking away, and he’s got the edge of the sheet pulled up and _bitten_ _between his teeth_ —

—and feels her orgasm hit her so violently it’s like a rug has been pulled out from under her feet, plunging her full-body into that tide. Her back arches up; her legs close to wrap around Luffy, a stray talon ripping the sheets, and as someone’s cry bounces up off the ceiling she finishes _hard,_ spilling artlessly into Luffy’s hand.

She drifts for a long moment, after, melting into the pillows, distantly aware of Luffy slipping away. Fades back in on the sound of his moan, dipping far below his usual register, low enough to feel with her body—

And gapes at the sight of Luffy sitting on folded knees with Law stretched out on his stomach before him, Law up on his elbows to take Luffy’s cock into his mouth. Law looks steadily up at him as he lowers himself, inch by inch, Luffy's hand gentle in his hair; Luffy watches his progress through half-lidded eyes, murmuring, “Fuck, yeah, Torao, just like that.”

The sight of Luffy’s cock pushing into Law’s mouth is stupefyingly erotic, and Monet—though she can’t get going again so quickly, her body still in the boneless phase of post-orgasmic bliss—watches in total fascination, intent on storing the filthy memory away. Certainly after tonight she’s never going to be short of material for sexual fantasies ever again, but this—Law’s eyes sliding closed under Luffy’s touch, Law struggling to take Luffy all the way to the root, Luffy’s gaze on him devastatingly tender—surpasses it all, the kind of intimacy she’s never imagined getting to see.

Law bottoms out, the last of Luffy’s cock disappearing past his lips with a choked sound. Monet swallows in vicarious sympathy; Luffy’s not _big,_ exactly, but she knows that doesn’t mean anything for how it feels going _in_. Luffy, audibly breathless, says, “ _Damn,_ Torao.”

Then Law pulls off, and licks him showily up from his balls to his tip, right hand coming forward to grip Luffy’s base. Luffy says, “ _Fuck!”_ and, as Law starts to tease his head with tongue, “Fuck, yeah, finish me off—”

Law slides his tongue down Luffy’s shaft, and Monet sees him tuck his other hand down between his own legs, his hips starting to make little aborted motions against the bed. The fact that he’s so turned on by this that he can’t keep from touching himself is—breathtaking, and Monet bites her lip, her own hand straying helplessly to her over-sensitized clit.

Law’s lips seal once more around Luffy’s cock, and this time Luffy’s hands come forcefully down on his head, pushing him further onto his dick. Monet is treated to the bawdy sight of Luffy shoving Law repeatedly down on his cock, Law choking on the intrusion, and even through her afterglow it makes her shiver, staring: most of all because Law looks like he _loves it,_ his silent intensity breaking on a moan, stifled around Luffy fucking into his mouth. His hips move in jerky synchrony against the bed, increasingly erratic, and Monet dips a careful finger into her own pussy.

Luffy doesn’t last long. Within a dozen bucking thrusts he tenses and jerks back, pushing back on Law’s forehead with his right hand; his left goes to his cock, and as Law tilts his face up he angles himself with his hand—“Open wide, Torao, _fuck!”_ —and groans, long and low, watching himself come in Law’s mouth.

Monet watches right along with him, squeezing tight around her own finger. The ocean faith of her youth lacks a god of promiscuity, but if there were one she’d be giving thanks now, down on her knees in whatever carnal method the deity chose.

Law takes every last drop, swallowing loud. Luffy throws himself back, scooting until he can kick out his legs, and lets out a satisfied, _“Ahhhhh!”,_ leaning back on his arms.

Law, for his part, screws his eyes shut; his right hand joins the other between his legs, and his ass lifts sharply up from the bed, his mouth opening as he buries his face against it. A shudder passes through him, his body bowing up into a tense arc from his jaw to his knees, and for several seconds he only gasps harshly into the sheets, shuddering hard.

Then he collapses forward into the bed, his breathing ragged, and Monet says, delighted, “Did you just—”

“He did,” confirms Luffy, nonchalant, and then, with a wicked sideways glance, “Twice, I think. The first time when you did. Eh, Torao?”

Law swears passionately into the bed. “Don’t _tell her,_ you bastard.”

Monet covers her mouth with her hand, and dissolves, quite helplessly, into giggles.

Stopping the sound bubbling out of her chest is difficult enough that she has to twist to stifle it into the pillows, and spends the next several minutes doing just that. Comes up again with both hands over her mouth, still suffering from periodic snorts, and sees Law still planted with his face against the bed, one hand up in his wrecked hair, looking _deeply_ fucked out.

_Oh, dear._

Luffy, still leaning languidly back on his arms, says to the ceiling: “That was _really_ hot.” And then, in an appalling display of stamina, “We should do it again. After we _eat!”_

Monet snickers, and kicks a leg over to prod at Law’s side, talons curled carefully inward. “Oh, I don’t know. Our third participant might be out for the count. Are you alive over there, Mister Double-O?”

“Please,” groans Law, “ _never_ say that again.” After a moment, he reports blandly, “I think my brain has melted out of my ears.”

Monet inquires, “Is that a ‘no’?” while Luffy laughs, prodding Law again with her foot. “Come here, damn it, let me kiss you.” A glance towards Luffy. “Let _us._ ”

“I ought to go running at the very idea,” Law tells her, but he pushes up to hands and knees, anyway, and climbs over to lower himself into her waiting arms. He’s sweaty all over—so is she—and both of them are tacky with evidence of their spent arousal, making Law grimace as they press together. As Luffy shuffles to join them, Law suggests, “Maybe after a shower.”

“Ew,” says Luffy, scrunching his nose, and gets Law shoving him face-down against the bed for his trouble. Law does it without turning, letting her guide him into a kiss; his mouth tastes of Luffy, and she’s surprised when he lets her kiss him deep, far more open than she’s used to him being after the act. Luffy makes muffled noises while Law holds him down, and then pulls Law over to himself when he parts from Monet, kissing greedy.

When _Luffy_ has finished, he whines, “ _Food,_ Torao,” and Law snorts, pushing off of them both.

“Take a shower,” he tells Luffy, “and I’ll let you have the run of the galley.” Luffy pouts, but bounces up off the bed; Law lies back against the pillows, and throws his arm over his eyes. “I need time to _recover_. The two of you are—”

“Awesome?” says Luffy.

“Unsurpassably sexy?” innocently puts in Monet.

 _“Exhausting,_ ” finishes Law, “and plainly out to see me dead. It’s not every day the two people you let fuck you out of your wits suddenly decide to _join forces_.”

Luffy’s laugh drifts back towards them as he bangs his way into the bathroom, the water starting to run. Steam billows out the door, and Monet smiles, bending to press a silent, chaste kiss to Law’s shoulder. No, she thinks; it’s _not_ every day that both of the people who love you get to show you at the same time. _I’d be overwhelmed, too._

Law’s hand moves to brush against hers on the bed, just the barest touch. They wait, together.


End file.
